At meeting next Sunday she would in the Brethren, and they would murmur and gaze, as they had done four fans ago when she told them about the Lord riding on a cloud. Selina was genom round the table, licking the plates, and Elis and William were asleep together on the rag mat. Vi was walking round the table, licking the plates, and Elis and William were live together on the rag mat. But don't you fret, lovey-duck. But don't you blackjack, lovey-duck. He wur gurt and tur'ble, riding on a cloud.
But Susan stuck to her tale, which by now she entirely believed herself, and in the end her mother kissed her, and took off Fuck local sluts in orsett heath damp dress, and rubbed her with a rag, and put her into a sack with holes for her arms and legs till her dress was dried out ready for her to wear again. The rain had stopped, but they did not send her back into the field. Only about four of those present remembered him, old grandfather Pitfold and his missus, and John Fuck local sluts in orsett heath Susan Borrer, an old couple who according to rumour had once lived with the gipsies. To the rest his name was legend, and his teaching dogma, which they received on the authority of the elders, though for the matter of that it was all to be found in the Book by them Fuck local sluts in orsett heath could read.
In numbers the congregation had slightly decreased in the fifty years since its establishment, and it held no communication with other congregations of the same sect, though it was aware that such existed in Horsham that Rome of the sectsin Shamley, in High Hurst Wood, in East Grinstead and elsewhere in the country of the Surrey and Sussex borders. The special tenets of the Colgate Brethren were akin to High Calvinism, from which their founder had seceded. They stressed in addition their belief in Fuck local sluts in orsett heath imminent Fuck local sluts in orsett heath of the world, in the sinfulness of riches which must have comforted them muchand in the need of begetting other Colgates, for it was a doctrine of the sect that, after the first Dating 40 plus toronto, called apostles, birth into it must be literal as well as spiritual, and new members could be received only through natural processes of generation.
The labouring race of the Surrey and Sussex borders was a fertile race, and the smallness of the company was due rather to lapses and migrations in later life than to any lack of births. Susan was glad that her mother was not to be present on this great occasion. Susan knew that her father Fuck local sluts in orsett heath proud of her and wanted her to tell her story and win him credit, but she felt that her mother still doubted her wonderful vision, though she no longer spoke of her doubts. The order of worship was settled, who was to preach and who was to pray, for all the brethren were ministers, none being set apart to any special office, except Will Backshell the cowman, who was appointed reader Fuck local sluts in orsett heath he alone could Fuck local sluts in orsett heath.
Today Susan knew that they were talking about her, for she saw many glances cast in her direction. The service began with prayer, a very long prayer offered by an old shepherd without many teeth, so it was difficult to understand the precise terms of his business with heaven. Then Will Backshell stood up and said: Hur Colgate himself saw his Angel, and I've been told as a Saint of Fairwarp, Ernest Weller, once beheld a throne set up in the heavens, and at another time saw a Flaming Book fly over the hedge while he wur tying hops at Lambpool. But this congregation of ourn has been uncommon blind till now when the Lord has opened the eyes of a liddle maid.
Brother Adam Spray's first daughter Susan saw the Lord in a vision at Beggars Bush last Thursday, and we hold it seemly that she should stand up in our midst and tell us of it before I read God's Word and the Bread is broken. Susan stood up, but her head came scarcely above the shoulders of those sitting, so it did not make much difference. Then a brawny carter took her in his Fuck local sluts in orsett heath, and lifted her up, and stood her on an empty bench in front of them all. There she stood, facing her first congregation, at the age of six. She felt afraid and shy. What did you see? Joe Springett the blacksmith stood up against the wall, and she saw his eyes blazing out of the bush of black hair that grew all over his face.
Reckon she wur scared herself when the thunder came, and thought she saw all manner of sights, and maybe she wanted a word from the Lord to send her home out of the racket and save her a beating. She felt her cheeks turn pale. How did Maas' Springett know? But it wasn't true. She had seen the Lord. She had seen Him, and nobody should make her say different. He wur gurt and tur'ble, riding on a cloud. Had He arms and legs? Tell us, Susan Spray, did He speak? How she wished this man would sit down and give over scaring her. His eyes seemed to blaze at her out of his hairy face like a charcoal burner's fire out of a black spinney. If they disbelieved her now she would disbelieve herself—and she had seen the Lord—she had!
His eyes seemed to blaze into hers, flaming coals in a great fire that came searing over her, burning her up. She fell into the fire and was lost. She had seen many things before that, but she could not remember them; it was the only thing she remembered as she opened her eyes. It was a big brick building, like a barn, and at each corner stood a tower which was like an oast-house. At first its waters were narrow and swift, but as they flowed, they grew wider and deeper. They flowed over her, cooling and sweet. She opened her eyes, and looked around. She was lying on the floor of the barn at Horn Reed, her head on some soft lap, while a hand sprinkled water on her brow.
Somehow, she had a terrible sense of wonder and beauty lost, and she began to cry. She put up her hand and touched it. It had four towers, and the water came out of a liddle arch in the middle. Then it grew wider and wider and wider. Let us refresh our minds. Again he measured a thousand cubits, and brought me through the waters. Afterward it was a river that I could not pass over: But the smith himself still mocked her. Reckon you're a poor set of sheep, asking to be led astray by somebody—and now you've gotten a babe to do it. Susan must learn to read and study that Book with whose teachings she was already miraculously inspired.
Those who read, read from it as soon as they had learned their letters; those who spelled, spelled from it, and those who wrote, copied it out. Sarah Bull herself belonged to the Established Church—an institution which the Colgates regarded as synonymous with worldliness and decay—but in those days and in those parts the Bible was studied and venerated by all sects alike: Methodist, Baptist, Congregationalist, Independent, Established Church, all were united when it came to the love and honour due to the Book of Books. They might differ in their interpretations of certain texts, but not in their theories of inspiration.
It became for them the fount of wisdom, earthly and heavenly—it familiarized them alike with Tudor English and the Mind of God. Susan had always pondered these things as she sat in the field at Beggars Bush, though her acquaintance with them was limited to what she heard read at meeting. The Bible world had always seemed very close and clear, a luminous world shining out upon the concrete trials and joys of this. A slice of Brown George turnover was a solid earthly blessing for which she did not trouble even to thank God. But the folk in the Bible were there—close at hand—not away in the past or beyond a gulf, and she felt that she might any day meet one of them: Besides Abraham, she met Nimrod the hunter, Melchisedeck the priest; besides Moses she met Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, whom the earth swallowed with her mouth.
Suppose the earth should open her mouth again. In the New Testament, too, besides the Saviour and His apostles, were great men of renown—Stephen with his face like an angel, and Saul breathing threatenings and slaughter, and all the white lightning of the Apocalypse, burning strange pictures into her heart. She would dream of angels like flames, of shining hearts and moving mountains and falling stars, of old men with long beards, who wagged their heads at her. She would cry out, and ask to come into her parents' bed, where she would lie warm between them, and dream only of hens clucking in the barnyard, of cows being milked, of loaves being taken out of the oven.
But she held the tales that the Colgate Brethren spread about her as mere ranters' nonsense. Susan herself said nothing about her experiences. So she kept silence, but in her heart she sometimes brooded with pride, and in meeting she always wore a devout, dreamy look. Perhaps for that it was necessary that she should stare into a couple of glowing contemptuous eyes like Joe Springett's. Since that day, the smith had never been to meeting. He had said that he washed his hands of a set like the Colgates. He wasn't going to take his teaching from a babby.
He would join the Methodists. But as it happened he did not join the Methodists. For some reason or other he just took it into his head to go nowhere. On Sundays you would see him with his back against the door of the smithy, his arms folded across his chest, watching the people go by to Church and Chapel, and smiling as if he knew better. Good folks were shocked at his downfall; but the Colgate Brethren understood. He had doubted the voice of the Lord, like Balaam, like Saul, like Ahab, like a dunnamany other wicked folk in the Scriptures, and the consequences were only natural. The Brethren marvelled, and humbly gave thanks in the barn at Horn Reed, for it seemed as if the Lord had surely set His seal on Susan Spray by thus visiting with destruction the only one of them who had doubted her word.
Those winters before the Repeal were dreaded in humble homes all over the country. Working folk saved what they could during the summer, but it was not much—faggots and dried duns for fire-wood, a sack of flour from their own gleanings, and maybe a side of bacon for Christmas fare. Adam Spray earned only ten and sixpence a week from the labour of himself and his two daughters and the bounty of the Colgates. It was impossible for Ruth to save on her weekly budget for a family of eight. And now she was expecting another mouth to feed.
All they had had for breakfast was a drink of hot water. HE gives it to her till the babby gits teeth to bite with, and then it has to fend fur itself. The beasts are just the same. I don't see why only the liddle 'uns should be fed. Susan and Tamar were very much alike, tall and dark, with quick movements and dainty limbs.
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No doubt some strain of gipsy blood was in either Ruth or Adam Spray, and had come out in their two elder daughters. Both Susan and Tamar loved her—more than they loved each other. I don't want to go out to service. I'd wear a gown made of stars. You'd wash up the pots and pans. Someone has to do that, even in a circus. I tell you, Suke, when I'm grown up, I mean to be grand. I don't mind how sinful I am, as long as I don't have to go hungry and wear dirty clothes, and live in a broken house, and have a husband and babies. I'd sooner be black wud sins. Tamar's confession seemed somehow a defiance of herself and her special religious privileges Fuck local sluts in orsett heath revelations.
She lifted her small arm, ending in a very capable fist, and smote the blasphemer on the nose. There was immediate uproar. Tamar bled, screamed, and hit back. Ruth stood by yelling, while her sisters fought, kicking and scratching and tearing at each other. They were nearly of an age Fuck local sluts in orsett heath size, but Susan was by a year and a few pounds the better woman. She finally won her battle by seizing her victim's head and banging it repeatedly in the road. You're killing me, surelye! They faced each other uncertainly Fuck local sluts in orsett heath a moment, then both burst into tears.
For they saw that they were nearly naked, their faces and bodies plastered with blood and dirt. Sinner and saint alike would feel the weight of her arm, and their religious differences at once were lost in an alliance of fear and woe. Why they called her so would be hard to Adult livecam, unless they hoped to find in this lady's name, this Manor-house name, a change Fuck local sluts in orsett heath their own excessive humbleness. They took her to Copthorne Church to be christened and Fuck local sluts in orsett heath have her grand name entered in the parish register; for the sects all went to Church to be christened and to be married and to be buried, regarding these events indeed as social and human rather than as religious in character.
On the following Sunday she was brought to meeting—not to be made a Colgate, since birth had made her one, but to be formally recognized by the Brethren. A boy would have been sure to be lucky; and might possibly have made their fortunes as well as his own. Anyway, a boy earned more money than a girl. He had three girls already, and this one made four, but he had only three boys. By this time the Sprays were, if possible, hungrier than they had ever been before. Flour was four shillings a stone, tea five shillings a pound, Fuck local sluts in orsett heath sixpence an ounce.
By rights, Adam Spray ought to have had a free allowance of milk from Pickdick, but Pickdick was a skinny, close-fisted farm, and there were many bitter complaints from its people. Sometimes Spray talked of looking for work elsewhere, but he knew that he only talked. Labour was cheap and plentiful, and there was no reason at all to suppose that if he gave up his work on Pickdick he would find another place before he starved or "came on the parish. He had, however, determined that if possible his older girls should go out to service. If he put her out to service on a farm, she would not receive more than five pounds a year, but she would be fed, and that would make a lot of difference—especially if she could contrive to bring home scraps now and again.
He could probably find her a good place. Ruth's only objection to this plan was that she had no Sluts in carn gorm for them. He put his clumsy, earth-smelling arms round her and tried to comfort her. It seemed scarcely possible that only eight or nine years ago she had been young and lovely, with a round dark mouth like a damson and hair as thick and sweet-scented Age of consent in illinois dating hay. He had not, of course, expected her never to change—in every cottage a woman changed from youth to middle-age in the first ten years of Fuck local sluts in orsett heath life.
But Ruth looked ill and old—she had suffered even more than was the common lot of women. He was sorry for her—in that one moment, achingly sorry. But he did not know what he could do. He had only nine shillings a week, with his fuel and his cottage; there were no friends more Fuck local sluts in orsett heath than himself to whom he could turn, and the common sources of village charity had run dry. But don't you fret, lovey-duck. We can do no more than our best for them, and if they can't get placed without grand gowns and shifts, then they'll have to stop as they are, I reckon.
But I mean to try. Cheale, had recently lost a daughter in a decline, and these were her clothes, washed and cut up for Susan and Tamar. There was some stuff over to hem into two large handkerchiefs, in which their wardrobes were bestowed and carried to East Grinstead, where their father meant to dispose Where to find hookers in taibao them at the hiring. There were two hiring fairs a year, one on Lady Day and one on Michaelmas Day, which in those parts was kept on October the eleventh. The market-place at East Grinstead would be full of men and maids waiting to be hired.
You could get a stout maid of all work for six pounds a year, a chicken girl for seven, an outdoor girl for five. The Fuck local sluts in orsett heath were paid weekly, from eight to twelve shillings, and expected, besides, their lodging in their master's house, or, if married, a cottage with fuel, milk, and sometimes flour. But year by year their demands grew less, as hunger pressed down on the 'forties. Perhaps that was why nobody hired Tamar or Susan Spray. Housewives shook their heads, and said they would soon be ragged. They also said that their arms were too thin Fuck local sluts in orsett heath that they looked chesty.
Their father swore that they were stronger than they looked, and could lift heavy weights, and knew all about chicken and pigs, and could cook and sew and brew beer. For though he knew they could do none of these things, he also knew that if they were hired he would not have to feed them for six months. However, at the end of the day, he brought them home from market like unsold calves. Their mother cried when she saw them, and said that all her trouble and stitching had been wasted. But Tamar and Susan were not unhappy, because they still had their new clothes.
Susan, moreover, felt secretly relieved that she had not been taken away from her home and the Colgate people. She woke, still feeling afraid, into a dim consciousness that someone was leaning over her and breathing on her face. She was just going to cry out when she realized it was her mother. I want you to go out, and over into the Clayfield by Shovels, and git me one of them gurt rootses. It came over me only ten minnut ago that if I had one I cud make soup of it. I've got to eat fur two, Susan, don't you know that? I can scarce abide to be so hungry. Here am I going both heavy and hungry—heavy and hungry—'tain't right, 'tain't natural, and if it goes on much longer I shall die of it.
She had often spoken of common things in a whining, complaining voice, but never before had she so definitely stated her grief. She stood up in her shift, shivering with cold. Susan pulled her gown on over her head, and her mother opened the door for her to go out. There was a thick mist everywhere, and the trees and hedges showed through it like ghosts. It was damp, and it smelled of earth and turnips. Susan ran through it with her hands out before her, as if she were pushing it away. She ran to warm herself, because the cold was terrible, eating her.
And yet it was not the dead cold of winter, that is hard and hollow, like an iron rod, but the living cold of an October dawn, which is moist and quickening, the womb of the morning. She seemed to become a fellow of the grass and nettles and hedges, sharing their adornment of mist and dew, and suddenly she felt a deep contentment rising in her heart that she should be out here alone with the mist and the morning, before even the farm people were about. Surely now when the world was empty and washed like this, the Lord must walk in it, as He used to walk in Eden long ago. Then, He chose the cool of the evening, but she felt now that the cool of the morning was best. Perhaps in just such cold and stillness she would see His great shape passing by, dim and monstrous in the mist, like the shape of a big haystack or a barn.
Her heart quickened strangely. She seemed to stand on the edge of revelation—half awake, numb with cold, running through the fog on her way to steal a turnip. The sunrise was breaking into the mist; among the white layers of it scars appeared, spreading and dripping with light. Suddenly the expected marvel showed itself to her, not in a monstrous, frightening shape, but as a globe of fire that hung suspended in the bare, laced twigs of a thornbush on the crown of the field. It was the Burning Bush. Burning but not consumed, it stood there on the meadow slope above her, lighting the world with its radiance, so that she saw her parents' cottage, and the turnip field, and the roofs of Pickdick, and Copthorne Church, all lit as when the fire flares up mysteriously out of ashes, and lights a gloaming room.
The fogs swept down over the Sign, and the moment passed; but as it passed she seemed to know all that it had been. This time the Lord had truly passed and spoken, touching the earth at dawn. Once more the field was grey and dim, full of dark shapes. The field of revelation had moved from Beggars Bush to this slope above Pickdick and to this tranquil, drifting hour of early morning. At meeting next Sunday she would tell the Brethren, and they would murmur and gaze, as they had done four years ago when she told them about the Lord riding on a cloud. Panting with delight, she slipped through the hedge into the next field where the turnips grew.
She crawled on her hands and knees for fear that someone might be in the field and see her, for she knew that the sun had risen and the men would be at work. Close to the ground, the mist seemed a strong-smelling brew of earth and turnips. It smelled so strong that it almost seemed good to eat. She could taste it on her tongue. On a level with her eyes was a forest of grey-green leaves, and just below them the swelling curves of the roots, as they rose from the earth with earth upon them, the colour of earth. She pulled up the nearest one, and suddenly her hunger, which had been half forgotten in the stresses of religious experience, rushed back, and she took a bite out of the swelling goodness.
Her teeth went pleasantly through a hard, moist, fibrous texture, and she had a taste in her mouth as if she had swallowed the field. She chewed for some time, and felt better, then she bit again, and ate, chewing and spitting out fibre. The root looked ravaged and spoiled—she must pull up another. And suddenly she felt a huge delight and freedom, for she had all the field to choose from. This was far better than buying stuff at Mrs. Harmer's shop, where if you spoiled your purchase you could not make a second choice. It was all part of the glory and exaltation of the morning that Susan should feel herself mistress of a turnip field.
She threw away the root she had munched, and chose two others. She could not take more, because she must be prepared to hide her booty, which she had decided to do by slipping it into the front of her gown, where it would merely seem to supply those natural deficiencies of which she was already aware. As she ran back home she felt proudly that she had the shape of a grown woman to add to the triumphs of the day. She ran quickly, close under the hedge, for all the world was awake now. When she reached the Boot, the door stood open, and her mother sat in her rocking-chair against the wall, her chin drooping, her body sagging, her arms dangling loose from her shoulders.
Tell 'um to the Brethren. It was but seemly that the return of her vision should complete that wonderful day. The Burning Bush and turnip soup. At dawn, the Lord Almighty gazing at her with His floating fiery eye through the laced twigs of a thorn, at dusk the smell of cooking soup coming to meet her as she ran home. She would never forget how deliciously that smell had crept towards her through the other smells of evening, the low drift of wood-smoke and the settling fogs. Inside the Boot, a rushlight was burning, and her mother's great shadow heeled over the ceiling as she set down the soup on the table, so that it was as if some shadowy being from another world, an angel or a ghost, stooped from above to feed the hungry Sprays.
Ruth had thickened the soup with flour, and sippets of bread were floating in it, with the shredded leaves of nettle and dandelion. There was enough for two helpings all round, and afterwards Susan could feel her stomach curving out from her like a well-filled sack. They soon began to feel drowsy, and went to bed. When Susan awoke, it seemed as if she had been walking a long time in her dream. The widening valley was full of sunshine, and from every tree hung great swelling globes, like the turnips she had taken out of the field that morning. She marvelled to see turnips growing on trees. Then she tried to cross the waters, which as she stepped into them came only to her ankles.
But at the next step they were at her knees, and the next at her waist, and she was afraid of drowning till she remembered that these were the waters of life. At the realization a great joy and excitement filled her, and she awoke. The room was quite dark, but somehow she knew that her father and mother were awake, and the next moment she heard them speaking. Be a man, Spray, and git up and fetch Mrs. You've had false tokens before this, and I'm heavy wud sleep. Ades in the marnun. Spray, fur God's sake. In the darkness she heard him pulling on his trousers and his boots. Then he clumped out, and Susan buried her head under the coverlet, striving for a wink more sleep before Mrs.
Ades the midwife came and turned them all out into the cold. That evening, when she came home from Horn Reed—where since her rejection at the hiring fair, she had been picking stones off the fields at a shilling a week—she found the door of the cottage shut against her; and when she lifted the latch, the midwife came running out, telling her to be off. Coven's, and the big'uns at Mrs. Coven's or to Mrs. But she went off to Mrs. Cudd—the stockman's wife at Pickdick—where she found Tamar and Ruthie and Aaron settling down in the lean-to shed on a bed of heath and bracken which they had pulled themselves.
That night they slept like cattle, and the next morning their father appeared, standing at the foot of their bed in the grey light like a ghost, his face as grey and empty as a ghost's. He told them in a hoarse rough voice that they could come home when they liked, for their mother was dead. Then he turned round and walked off without another word. They were all far too frightened to go home, and that night they slept again among the bracken in Mrs. They found their father sitting huddled over the kitchen fire, where the pot was cooking in the smoke. His employer, Mus' Cruttenden at Pickdick, had shown his compassion in substantial form and had given ten shillings towards the funeral expenses, a whole side of bacon and a peck of dried pease.
Ades, the midwife, had made some of the bacon and pease into a stew, and was coming round in half an hour to dish it out. They crouched round the fire with their bowed and silent father, smelling the fat smoke, and longing for Mrs. Ades to come and spoon them out their portions. The rest of the bacon hung from a hook in the ceiling, and it was comfortable to think that when they had eaten all that was in the pot there was still plenty more, which one day would smell just as good. But it was strange to see that their father took no notice either of the stew or of the hanging bacon. They felt afraid of him as they watched him there, lounging over the fire, his face still grey among the stubble of his beard.
They were afraid to question him about their mother. He did not speak or take any notice of them, except once when Tamar fell against his knees, when he started and swore, as if she had wakened him out of sleep. Ades came in, bustling them out of her way, and ordering Susan to set the table: Ades jerked her shoulder towards the bedroom door. Susan felt glad that the baby was dead. If it had been alive, how should they have fed it? It would have been like one of those socklambs, which are brought up in farm-house kitchens, and are a great care and nuisance to everybody, because they have to be kept warm and fed out of a bottle. The baby would have been very troublesome to rear—besides, they already had enough.
Suppose they had been here tonight, demanding their portions of stew. Suppose their mother had been here to-night, with that hungry look in her eyes, shovelling bacon and pease into her wide, hungry mouth, which seemed as if it could fill itself twice as fast and twice as full as anybody else's. In a sudden pang Susan thought at once of the mercy of her mother's absence from the feast and of the pity of her having missed what she would have enjoyed so much. At first Susan had felt afraid, but soon fear passed into sleep, for once again she was heavy with an unaccustomed meal. This time she did not dream of Ezekiel's temple, nor even of her mother and the new baby, lying together waxen in the moonlight, as she had seen them when Mrs.
It was not till she awoke that she remembered she had picked them for her mother. The burial was in the churchyard, and conducted by Mr. Diggle, the Parson, who had no objection—indeed, the reverse—to presiding thus over the ends of his schismatic parishioners. Somehow or other, it seemed to give him the last laugh. He would not, however, allow any of the Colgate Brethren to speak, which was not so much religious intolerance as a wish to get home in time for his dinner. The Colgates had paid for the funeral, each man giving his utmost to the brother in distress. After the fees had been settled there was enough over for a funeral feast, with the help once more of Mus' Cruttenden's substantial pity, manifested this time in a leg of mutton and a cask of home-brewed beer.
Their mother's death was associated with the three best meals they had eaten since the Hunger began. That evening they sat and stuffed themselves round the Boot's inadequate kitchen table, and with them sat the Brethren, silent and munching, renouncing their now unforbidden speech for more desperate necessities. Only one of them did not eat, and that was the widower, unable to do more than pick at the good food his wife's death had brought him. His behaviour was considered right, though almost aggressively beyond the bounds of imitation.
There was a mutter of approval when he suddenly rose from table and went out into the dusk. When the plug slipped in, my pussy began to drip. My lace thong was previously beginning to get soaked as I walked to course, the plug stuffing me so great. One more step As course went on, I used to be crossing my legs and seeking to just take notes. This course was rather chill and straightforward so my thoughts was wandering. My gentle pussy lips have been drenched in my juices as I squirmed all over in my seat, my friends entirely oblivious to your enjoyment I used to be in. Forwards and backwards I rocked in my seat, subtly in order not to arouse any suspicion.
Every time I rocked, the plug despatched waves of delight as a result of me. The actor commented in I never behaved like a victim so that I would have a convenient reason for victimizing others. Everything I did wrong was my own fault. I was taught the difference between right and wrong at an early age. I take full responsibility. However, he soon quit. It was his departure that eventually allowed Joe McIntyre to take his place as the fifth member of the group. The record was produced by brother Donnie and later hit No. The project combined rap and ragga vocals with strong eurodance music as in the singles Happy People, German No.
A basketball fanatic, he caught the attention of critics after appearing in The Basketball Diaries inplaying the role of Mickey alongside Leonardo DiCaprioin a film adaptation of the Jim Carroll book of the same name.